


Growing

by Autumn_Warrior1952



Category: Original Work
Genre: Implied/Referenced Suicide, Mental Health Issues, References to Depression, Warnings May Change
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-03
Updated: 2020-03-03
Packaged: 2021-02-23 00:36:37
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,131
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23002948
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Autumn_Warrior1952/pseuds/Autumn_Warrior1952
Summary: This work is something I was told to do for catharsis. Please not the tags and don't read if they might trigger you. I have found a lot of relief in getting these thoughts out of my head. While I hope no one is struggling the way I am, if you are able to relate to this then please take comfort in knowing you aren't alone.
Kudos: 2





	Growing

Life. New exciting life. I know nothing but the warmth of the milk in my mouth and the comfort of my mother’s touch. How simple life is now, how joyous this event of my birth was for my family. I was just a newborn, I didn’t know the struggles I would experience throughout my life, the heartache I would feel, the burdens I would carry. I simply enjoyed the simplest and most amazing gift ever given to me. Life.  
One step and now one more. Such a simple task walking is yet so fundamental. I of course don’t know this now. I didn’t think about the hundredth step I would take, the first room I would cross, the first mile I traversed. I only thought of the parent standing across from me calling my name. At a year old how could I care about the implications of this milestone? Why would I plan out my next steps? No, all I cared about was taking one step and then the next until I was once again safe in the arms of one who loved me. I didn’t care like they did that it was my first step and they didn’t understand my motivations towards it. I had something to walk towards, a purpose to push me into that step. Those motivations have kept me going all my life even when I felt I had no direction. I am one and I have taken one step and now I’ll take one more.  
What is it be like to be heard? I have so much that I want to say. My short life has been filled with nothing but firsts, but this is not one of those. No, I have spoken those already. Since it’s not my first, no one seems to care to listen. I after all know that what I am saying is important. Please, listen, try to follow along. I need to know you care and I really do have something to say. I never knew that this was just the start of my miscommunications. Except it has never been that I could not be understood, but that no one bothered to listen. Would it have been that simple? Am I just lost in my head? I know that two is young but what does it mean to be heard?  
What is family? Life should be simple; I am after all only three. Yet, there are new people every day introducing themselves to me. They want me to call them aunt, uncle, grandma; but I do not know these people. They are of no relation to me, so why is it that everyone demands I call them family. I do not know that someday these interlopers would be my closest family and best of friends. I cannot know that those I idolize for their blood would eventually become obsolete concerns. Of course not, I am three and I know no better. So, with all these changes I am left with the question, what is family?  
How do I capture joy? I have discovered this feeling that is so intense I can hardly contain it. Life is so wonderful for me, and I have started to join in the celebrations. I can now remember those who are there for me and care for me. I can understand the complex relations I share with those that I live with. I know now how much I care for my siblings and parents. Life isn’t simple for me, I don’t think it ever will be, but I am finally okay with that. Happiness so extreme and passionate that it radiates from my every smile. This is a feeling I want to feel forever. So, how can I at four years old capture joy.  
What else do I not know? I have always been called smart, but know I feel like I know nothing. I have started this horrible thing called school, and I hate it. Mom used to be my teacher and she always made me feel safe when she was forcing me to do random things. Were those things pointless? Now there is a teacher constantly asking me questions that I have no answer to. In fact, I don’t even know why I am here. I am five years old; I don’t understand why I even have to go to school. I just want to be free and play to feel the joy I felt before. Alas instead I am here in a classroom just wondering what else do I not know.  
Why must things change? I am glad to be going to a new school, but I am six and I have lived in three different houses just that I remember. It feels like I have to pick up and pack up my life every couple of years. Will I ever have a room I can call my own? A place I can decorate as I choose, personalize with my likes. Is that too much to ask? To have some stability in life. My new neighbors are loud and steamroll over my sister and I. My parents say one day we will be great friends and to give them a chance, but I want my cousins back. I already miss walking across the yard to swim with them and the evening meals we would share. I miss the way that my uncle would cave when I batted my eyelashes just right and come out to play kickball with all of us kids. How is it in my short life I have had to experience so much turbulence? Why must things constantly change.  
Is this what it feels like to be loved? I have heard the term before, and I have been instructed on when to say it. I don’t think I fully understand though. What is love, and why is it so important? I have been trained with a military precision to immediately say ‘I love you too’ whenever someone says that they love me. I wish my parents could have known the problems that would create for me one day. For now, to say I love you is no big thing. We say it whenever we leave, we say it when we end conversations. Love is a word thrown around so often in my life I am not sure what it means. I am seven and I have just been adopted, I think I may be beginning to understand this word that is tossed around so carelessly by my family. Is this what it feels like to be love?  
How do we fight nature? I am moving again; I am eight and moving for the fourth time in my life. How unfair is that? How totally crazy? An ice storm. I mean what is that. My mom yelling at my sister in I not to stand by the trees, a cold that settles so deeply inside yourself that you feel like you will never be warm again. The hot chocolate and ramen noodles constantly be shoved down my sister and I’s throats to keep us warm while we played was a fond memory I suppose. Other than that, it was nothing but biting winds and sharp cracks of ice breaking as we walked. Everyday felt colder than the last and with each passing moment the feeling of loneliness grew. Just as the cold broke and the ice melted, my family was trapped again as this time a hurricane laid siege to our home. I had learned of natural disasters of course in school and being the good Midwesterner I am I memorized tornado procedures with my letters. Yet, nothing prepared me for this. The winds screamed their rage at us, and we could hear the rain pound on our roof from where we cowered in our basement. Great booms echoed through the night, and it wasn’t until morning we discovered that the booms were trees being uprooted. If grand and ancient trees can not stand up to nature, how am I expected to. I, who am only eight, reedy and slight as I am. How do I fight nature?  
What would it be like to sleep forever? To escape from those who torment me, to ignore from my responsibilities, to sleep away from my guilt and shame. I want to sleep and dream where I can leave all of my problems behind me, but I can’t. I am only nine, why can I not play carefree like my cousins? Why must I have this burden as a sister? No, I take it back. There is nothing wrong with her, there is something desperately wrong with the world around us. Despite being only nine, I am not blind. I can see the way people look at her. She looks normal so they can’t see it, not the way I can, they read everything she does as something else entirely. Why, why is the world so cruel as to do this to her? Even my parents look upon her in disappointment at her supposed failures. Can they not see the turmoil that rumbles underneath her skin? It flows like a flooded river, violent and unstoppable. This roaring outlet of internal shame and confusion with no way out but to rise up and spew out in anger. I can see how much it hurts her in the aftermath to know that she has said and done the things she does. That is a private despair though, one only seen by me. I am tired though. I am tired of being her rock to cling to. I am tired of being a buffer, a translator, a friend, a tutor, a mother, a sister, a confidant, everything. How can I be everything for someone and not lose myself? How do I balance? In fact, how do I keep my head above the water when I am so weighed down and was never taught to swim? Why do I think there is a problem with the people surrounding me? Well, I’ll tell you. It’s because no one has ever noticed my sister’s internal struggles, they simply label it as her being a troublemaker. What’s worse, is that no one has ever questioned the weight I am under, nor offered to carry some of it themselves. So yes, I am tired. I am nine years old and I want to fall asleep and never wake up.  
What would it be to be able to speak to animals? Not everyone be able, but just me. I want to be able to just talk to them and them understand me, comfort me, be my friend, but not be able to tell others what I spoke of in confidence. How great would it be to be able to share my burden? I am but ten years old and I fear I will never be able to speak again. I fear every time I open my mouth. There are so many people who just unload on me, over and over again problems, worries, woes, and every inconsequential thing in between. I sit and I listen, and I comfort, and once their fears are assuaged, they leave me with this new weight on my shoulder. From sisters, friends, parents, grandparents, even cousins. I am a listener tried and true. I will always listen to their problems, but only because I know how it tears you down for no one else to listen to you. I wish not to break their confidence by telling someone else, so sometimes when their dark secrets bubble to the surface I fear to even open my mouth. I have been silenced by another’s secrets and I see no way to free myself. How long can I live in this silence? How long can I hold inside my own regrets and struggles? I can’t let myself speak freely because there is too much spiraling through my thoughts that doesn’t belong to me. So, I wish I could talk to animals. To share my burden amongst them and silence the raging thoughts that I have no rights over. I wish to pass those along and let them go from my mind, that is the only way I can imagine being free of the gag forced upon me. Animals can’t understand me though, they offer no comfort, can share no advice. I am ten and I fear I have been silenced forever.  
What does it feel like to be cherished? I have loved deeply as I am sure all before me have as well. I just wish I also knew what it felt like to be so loved myself. I am eleven years old and I feel abandoned. I know logically that there are those who love me, those who want me in their lives. Yet, I feel replaceable, like a swift breeze could carry me away and no one would notice. The people and things I cherish would be sorely missed should I lose them. I can come to no other conclusion but that I am not regarded as closely. I know these things because I have been left behind, I have been replaced and forgotten, I can move from group to group in silence. No one seems to notice nor care where I go and what I do. My family doesn’t see me, my friends are fleeting, and my hopes are crumbling. I have read grand stories of great loves and I want to feel that way for myself. Even if I never experience a romantic love like the one I so desire, I know there are other types of love that I could have now. I see the way other parents look at their children, in fact, I see it in the way my parents look at my sister. She is no longer the disappointing troublemaker, but the misunderstood disabled girl. They love her dearly, watch, monitor and guide her. Anything she needs is quickly provided, anything she wants is easily found, tantrums are given into swiftly. I see how they provide for her and take care of her. I am expected to take care of myself. How is it that I am eleven and questioning if I will ever be cherished?  
What would it be like to be seen? To walk in a room and have the presence that everyone is quick to notice. I am a small person and I worry that my impact will be even smaller. I want to make a difference with my life, but I don’t know how to. I am only twelve, what can I do? Furthermore, what do I want to do? I would like to make life easier for children, I would like for them to feel loved and protected. How, though, do I help children when I can’t even help myself? How do I let children know they are loved, when I have never felt loved myself? How do demonstrate safety to children when I don’t feel safe? Mayhap, I can’t, maybe my dreams are silly or misguided, perhaps other children don’t suffer as I have. Is it possible I don’t need to have a larger presence and the impact I want to make isn’t the one that matters? I am twelve and I don’t think I have ever been seen.  
What is it like to die? As a thirteen-year-old I am well aware of suicide. I know many different methods even. I still have questions though. Does it hurt? Is it quick? Is there a higher power? Is there nothing? What happens when you die? I would miss some things about life. The dawn breaking over the horizon spilling across the sky in its beautiful orange hues. The fresh green the spots the land at the start of spring. I would very much miss the sound of my niece’s laughter, the innocence behind it. I would miss the rare moments I earned my parents praise. I would be giving up hope and possibilities, I know. Yet I craved the silence that fell when I slipped under the surface of the water. I desired the feeling of peaceful sleep from which I would never wake. The sharp feeling of a blade that brings upon a warmth that spills over from a wound that while painful is also so relieving. While there are so many unknowns, there is still something huge to gain. Everything would stop. All the noise, the responsibilities, the drama, the pain, the never-ending heartache, everything. I know I am only thirteen, but tell me what is it like to die?  
What is it like to be happy? I think I can remember feelings I felt so long ago, but hey are fleeting memories that leave me shaky and cold. I want more than anything to feel again the warmth I felt from my mother’s smile; my sisters laugh. Nothing, though, can drag me from the depths of despair I feel myself slipping further into each and every day. On the days I am not consumed by anguish I am left with an even worse feeling, that of emptiness. It is as though my days have become a void, where nothing brings me joy or pleasure. At night I lie in the dark and succumb to my sorrows, dream of happier times, then wake up to the desolate cold of nothingness. I don’t want to die, not anymore, I don’t think. It’s just that I don’t know how much longer I can carry on feeling nothing but pain. So please tell me, I am only fourteen and I need hope. What is it like to be happy?  
Why can’t I breathe? This has got to be the worst thing to have happened to me, I finally decide to live and now I can’t breathe. I watched Dead Poets Society in class and seeing the effects suicide had on everyone around them, I have decided to live. Except now I feel this overwhelming pressure sitting on my chest constantly asking me what next. I don’t know though! I never thought I would need to answer that question; I didn’t want to live to be an adult. Oh god I only have three years to learn how to be a functioning human being before I am going to be thrust into society. What will I do? Who am I supposed to be? How can I learn? I can’t ask for help; I am ashamed to admit that I need it. What if I am a failure? What if I can’t do anything? I’m nothing. I’m not good enough. I can’t. I can’t breathe. Please, someone help. Why can’t I breathe?  
Everything is fine. I don’t know why I was so concerned about the future; I have found the perfect solution. Mimicry. The answer is so simple, and I am an idiot for not thinking of it sooner. I know what I can do to make my parents happy. I know how to smile for my friends, I have after all been doing that for years. This will work. Just keep doing things for others, things that makes them happy. Live to serve will be my motto. I know I can succeed at this, if nothing else. It doesn’t matter that I feel numb. Numb is comfortable. At least now I can breathe. I don’t need to feel anything to make others happy. Making the people around me happy gives this stupid life I’ve decided to live mean something. Besides I’m sixteen and that’s all we hear anyway, listen to your elders. This is fine. Everything is fine.  
Stop asking me questions because I don’t know. I am so sick of being asked what I am going to do after high school. I don’t know, I had never planned on getting this far. Why can’t someone just tell me what to do next? That has been working pretty great for me so far. I don’t want to think about it because that means leaving my numb state and then I can’t breathe. Can you not remember what it was like to be seventeen? I am sorry I don’t see a world of opportunities; I see a whirlpool of decisions that I know I’ll regret. I don’t want to live a life full of regrets, and how am I supposed to know what’s right and what’s wrong? Everyone keeps asking me what makes me happy? What would I be happy doing? Please just stop. I don’t know. I can recall times that I wasn’t sad, lonely, or scared. True happy moments though, I can’t. I am sure I’ve had them; I mean I have to at some point been happy. That ship has long since sailed though and unfortunately life has taken a new course for me. How can I do what makes me happy if I can’t recall ever being happy? I don’t have a plan; I don’t know what I am doing. So please, stop asking me questions; I don’t know.  
Is a desire to inspire others to live life to their fullest enough? I still don’t have any idea of what to do with my life, can this be the answer? I think I enjoy seeing other people realize their dreams. I mean I know I’m not sad when giving others encouragement to do what I can’t. I have had a lot of practice in helping others set goals and I like seeing those people attain their dreams. Is that enough? How do I accomplish this? Can I even make a living off of this? I hope so, because I don’t know how much longer I can do this. My bubble of numbness is growing smaller as the pressure grows. I am eighteen now, I am supposed to make my own decisions. What if I make the wrong ones? I don’t want to leave my little bubble, but I am outgrowing it quickly and I don’t know what will happen when I do. Everyone says to find my purpose, find my passion, and do what makes me happy. Is a desire to inspire others enough?  
Please help me. I feel like my life is exploding and I can’t even begin to pick up the pieces. Every time I think I have things in order, it all falls apart again. I want to be happy; I want to live my life like everyone else. I am finally willing to admit that I need help. I am tired of feeling nothing for days only to snap to sadness. I am tired of flittering uncontrollably between intense energy and happiness to rage. I am sick of lying awake at night unable to sleep because my mind just won’t stop. I am tired of losing hours of my day and having blackout periods where I can’t remember what I’ve done. What if I accidently hurt someone? I could care less if I hurt myself, but I don’t know if I could take it if I accidently hurt someone. What’s worse than not remembering / not knowing what you’ve done you might ask? I’ll tell you. It’s knowing exactly what you’re doing and not being able to stop. It’s screaming at the top of your lungs to stop but your body won’t listen to you and that stop just echoes in your head. I am over, hysterically crying after making a phone call, hyperventilating at the thought of talking to someone in person. It feels like there are ants crawling around under my skin and I know I shouldn’t put I can’t help but scratch. I feel like I have no control over my life. I’m nineteen, I am supposed to be taking control of my life. Please someone, anyone, help me.  
When does it get better? Doctors throwing around diagnosis’s and prescribing this that and another. I don’t feel better though. Not really. Just more aware of everything that is not okay. Therapy might work, but I’m too anxious to see someone. Meditation is impossible, my mind never stops. Reflection is depressing. Journaling feels like whining. The medicine might be helping with little things I never noticed, but that just makes everything I have noticed more pronounced. I don’t want to feel this way. I’m twenty, I want to be having fun like all of my friends. I reached out for help, but it is still so hard to admit my failings. People shouldn’t have these problems, why can’t I function like a normal person? Is there something actually wrong with me, or is it all in my head? If it is in my head, how do I fix it? They say the first step to getting better is admitting you need help, and I’ve done that. So, when does it get better?


End file.
